


Hunted

by Salamandriod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Shapeshifting, Tiger Sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 13:40:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3612111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salamandriod/pseuds/Salamandriod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is being hunted in the night, in his own flat, no less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunted

It’s 4:27 AM and Jim has a sinking feeling in his gut. The sort of feeling that one has when they know that something, _anything_ , is about to go horribly wrong. Despite this, Jim continues tapping away at his keyboard as though nothing was wrong at all. Even in the face of assassination, he remains as calm as always.

 

The clicking of keys stops after another six minutes or so, silence falling over the flat in its entirety now. At this hour, Sebastian ought to be fast asleep, dead to the world. The sinking feeling has gotten worse by now, making Jim huff slightly in annoyance. If someone was hunting him, they should have known better than to make him _wait_. Jim Moriarty is not a very patient man, even for death.

 

He stands and stretches, utterly silent on the plush carpet. As he turns the light off and pads over to the kitchen he can practically feel eyes on him, peering at him through the darkness. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t make any sign of even having sensed anything, and continues on. The sound of the tap is louder than anything else in the flat, drowning out Jim’s fears, if he had any. The water in his stomach seems to help mollify his dread, filling the void that the sinking left. Jim knew that if Sebastian was there to berate him, he’d just tell him that he needed to keep himself hydrated.

 

Just as he goes to put the glass away after a quick rinse, Jim hears a noise behind him. The smallest creak of the floorboards under something heavy. His shoulders tense as he sets the glass down, betraying his appearance of calm. Slowly he turns around to face the darkness, his face impassive.

 

The darkness stares back solemnly.

 

He shrugs it off and pads down the hall to the bathroom. He refuses to even attempt to go to sleep without going through his nightly ritual. It’s refreshing, in a way, like he’s scrubbing the mask of omniscient consultant out of his skin as he washes his face, though he knows that he can never pull it out of his skin completely. He wouldn’t want to, either, he doesn’t know what he would do without his work. The sinking feeling returns, pulling his stomach down through his body to disappear between the floorboards. Any normal person would have turned all the lights in the flat on instead of just preparing for bed. Jim isn’t normal, though. He never was, and never wants to be. Even when he knows he’s being stalked through his own home, he continues to hold his chin high.

 

And yes, stalked is just the word for it. He knows that the flat is silent as he resumes down the hall to the bedroom, but he is sure that he can hear the footfalls of what’s behind him. His flat is impenetrable, he’s had Sebastian test the security multiple times, sometimes by accident. There shouldn’t be anything in the flat besides the two of them.

 

Despite this all, Jim enters the bedroom calmly, leaving the door wide open for his stalker. He ignores the bed, not even giving it a glance as he heads directly to the closet. He doesn’t wear his suits when he’s working late in the privacy of his own study, but he doesn’t wear his pajamas, either. He slips into a soft, oversized shirt, something that looks more like it once belonged to Sebastian before Jim declared it his. He swaps his trousers for a pair of comfortable pajama bottoms that are long enough to cover his bare feet.

 

Finally he turns around, though he still doesn’t look at the bed or the lump of blankets that had to be Sebastian. He sighs softly, like he knows what’s about to happen. He strides in front of the bed and doesn’t even flinch at the sound of something hurtling his way from the door.

 

It happens in a flash, one moment he’s in the air, and the next he’s being pressed down into the comforter by a large, furry body on his own.

 

Jim grunts and mutters curses under his breath, pulling his way out from under the body. He glares up at the tiger atop of him as though it were a normal thing, to enter a staring contest with a jungle cat in a city penthouse. In his defense, it’s hardly a normal tiger staring back down at him with the hint of a grin and the sparkle of intelligence in its eyes. The tiger chuffed and rubbed its head against Jim’s face, showering him with affection after having hunted him through the flat. After a moment of that it shifts around a little, letting Jim move up the bed to make himself comfortable. The tiger flops down beside him, laying one heavy paw over his chest to pin him down and keep him warm.

 

“You know, Sebastian, there are far better ways of getting me to stay in bed than _this_ ,” Jim comments dryly into the darkness. The only answer he gets is a mew that sounds more like it came from a cow than a cat.

 

Jim sighs, knowing that it was useless to try and scold Sebastian when he was like this. He manages to lift the paw enough for him to roll onto his side, facing the lump of black and white fur beside him. He reaches out and buries his fingers behind one round ear, finally letting himself relax. He’s glad that the darkness covers the way that his lips curl into a faint smile.

 

Sebastian’s glad that Jim doesn’t know he can see his smile in the dark.

 

“You’re very lucky I don’t make you into a rug,” Jim says after a few minutes, breaking the silence. “I could put you right in front of my desk at the office, so then you can keep scaring everyone that comes in. No one would mess with a man that had a white tiger skin rug, would they?”

 

Jim’s words are slurred and tired, though no one but Sebastian would be able to tell that. He just gives the criminal another small chuff, knowing that his almost morbid rambling was just a way for him to show affection. It was best to just enjoy it while it lasted and try not to disturb the man when he was so close to sleep.

 

“Would you chase a laser pointer? You _are_ a cat after all. Then you could get your desire to pounce on me out of the way without nearly breaking the bed,” Jim continues, slowly drifting off. “It would be so amusing.” Sebastian would roll his eyes at that if he could. Anything he did as a tiger Jim would find amusing, whether it was pouncing at flecks of light like a house cat or rending their enemies apart in a single motion.

 

At last, the little criminal finally passes out, his fingers stilling in Sebastian’s fur. He takes the moment to nuzzle a bit closer to him, enjoying even the smallest amounts of affection that he can steal. Jim stole everything for himself, from the crown jewels to Sebastian’s heart, this was the least that he could do to take some back.

 

Content, Sebastian let himself fall still, the rise and fall of his own chest matching the even pace of Jim’s. They rest together comfortably, man intertwined with beast, and neither is disturbed by a sinking feeling of dread again.

**Author's Note:**

> In the morning, Jim wakes with a crick in his neck, a paw print shape pressed into his rib cage, and a complaint about everything being covered in fur. Sebastian pointedly rolls himself onto Jim, smothering him in his fur before he’s ordered to clean everything up. It is, after all, one of the few sure ways to make Jim laugh.


End file.
